


Ricochet

by lyriumandmentats



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Awkward Romance, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Language, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Strangers to Friends, eventual angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:03:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumandmentats/pseuds/lyriumandmentats
Summary: Erron Black knew that working for Kotal Kahn meant he could shoot people and make good money. It should have been a simple enough job. Until a decaying body with unearthly green eyes took his heart and crushed it in his gloved hands.-<>-This pairing doesn't have enough content (or should it be kontent?). As always, I'm going to change that. (Rating may change in later chapters. Please keep an eye on that, as well as tags. I will probably be updating those as well.)





	1. Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> We were one in the same  
> Running like moths to the flame  
> You'd hang on every word I'd say  
> But now they only ricochet  
> We were falling away  
> You left me with a bittersweet taste  
> But when I send my heart your way  
> It bounces off the walls you made  
> Ricochet

Erron bowed his head, the brim of his hat shielding his face from the harsh wind kicking up all kinds of dust and grit. Really, working in Outworld wasn't so bad; he'd worked in worse places, after all, but he could have done without the choking wind. At least the mask blocked the worst of it from entering his lungs.

Still, the lure of koins was enough to entice the gunslinger along. He couldn't afford to be picky. Not for long. And working as a hired gun for the Emperor of Outworld was a decent gig. Standard work; guard duty and bodyguard shift mostly. Other than the deposed Mileena and her cronies and the occasional idiot, it was uneventful. Erron almost felt bad accepting the exorbitant sum of money he received as pay.

Almost.

Today was no different, escorting the caravan through the market. They were returning to the palace and Erron had to admit that after the long journey they'd had, he was looking forward to scrubbing the grit from under his fingernails and sleeping on a real, honest to god mattress. He may have been granted an extended lifespan, but that didn't change the fact that he was getting on in years. Joints creaked like trees in a storm, though that did little to stop him from whipping his pistols like they were nothing. 

Speaking of which, he'd have to clean those suckers out, too. Not that he minded. Cleaning his guns was soothing to him. The smell of gunpowder and grease took him back to simpler times. Maybe not  _better_ times, but simpler. 

The faint smell of leather and decay snapped him back to the present as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Instinctually, Erron reached for his holster before he realized who it was that was walking in step beside him. 

Relaxing -- though only by a fraction -- the gunslinger gave Ermac a curt nod. If the construct noticed, he didn't show it. Just continued his somewhat awkward stride. Almost like he was a child first learning to walk. 

 _Not surprising,_ Erron thought to himself,  _seeing as most of the time he's floatin' around like a fuckin' ghost._

Ermac's presence was certainly enough to put anyone off, and Erron was no exception. He was a corpse after all, wasting away under layers of bandages and that beaten up leather cloak. Still, despite looking like he could crumble to dust at any given moment, Erron knew that the construct wasn't to be underestimated. He'd seen him fight. Seen him kill. A flick of his wrist and warriors were turned inside out, the burning sand below eagerly lapping up the resulting mess of blood. 

Still, Erron knew he wasn't a threat. For all his capability, Ermac was steadfastly loyal to Kotal. It seemed he served little purpose beyond trailing after the emperor. Sort of a shame, really. Wasted potential. 

"Erron Black."

Ermac's voice made him grit his teeth. Low, ominous, harsh. The gunslinger turned his gaze up and grunted in reply. 

"Yeah? What is it?"

The construct had slowed his pace to match him, vivid green eyes shining out from under his heavy hood. 

"You were muttering to yourself. Are you well?"

"'m fine," Erron said, perhaps a bit louder than was necessary. "I don't get it, Ermac. You teleport yourself around like it's nothin'. Why not just poof us back to the Kahn's Palace?"

"That is beyond the scope of our ability. The amount of energy it would take us to transport so many-"

Erron groaned. "Ah, fuck, 'm sorry I asked."

Ermac looked confused, but fell silent again. Erron stole a glance in his direction again, watching one wispy green soul orbit around the construct's shoulders one, two, three times before vanishing from sight. 

"We are curious as to the reasoning for your scrutiny."

Erron cursed under his breath again. 

"I ain't scrutinizing anything, Ermac. Pick up the pace. Wanna make it back before dark."

It felt like forever, but eventually they returned, Kotal dismissing his little entourage to rest. Between food and bathing, Erron couldn't decide, but nonetheless he returned to his bunk, dumped what looked like ten pounds of sand from his boots, and took a moment to stretch his neck and shoulders. Being out of the sun was nice. Even with the eye black he wore to help with the glare, his eye sockets felt as dry as the sand scratching up the floor under his stocking feet. 

Finally, he decided to bathe before eating. Nothing luxurious by any means. Just him using a basin of what looked like mostly clean water, a washrag, and a bar of soap he had stashed away. Erron scrubbed the sweat from his arms and neck, ran a comb through his hair, and when he decided he looked mostly decent, put his boots back on to raid the kitchen. It was too late for dinner, but with any luck, he'd be able to scrounge together something better to eat than road rations. 

His footsteps echoed through the halls. It was mostly empty here; a far cry from when he'd originally joined what he'd heard jokingly referred to as "the Kotal Krew." Then, the palace had been abuzz. Kotal was newly on the throne, quickly gathering allies and putting down his enemies. His rise to power had been swift. There were many who admired him before Shao Kahn's death, and though Erron had no dogs in the fight personally, thought he seemed a far more capable and stable leader than Mileena. 

_"I have heard stories, Mr. Black. Many of them seem too good to be true."_

_Kotal sat on his throne, leaning forward and scrutinizing Erron with narrowed eyes. He was flanked by two figures; the Kytinn, D'Vorah, and a slender, lanky figure glaring at him from under a heavy hood._

_Disgusting, Erron had thought. In regards to them both, certainly. But the way that corpse fixed him with unblinking green eyes was beyond creepy._

_"Then you know I'm worth the price." Erron tore his eyes away from the hooded figure and focused on the Kahn._

_Kotal chuckled lowly. "That remains to be seen. But given your reputation, I am inclined to believe you." He jerked his head towards D'Vorah, who stepped forward and pressed a sack of koins into Erron's waiting hands. "That is the agreed upon sum for your hire. In three months' time, should I decide to keep you under my employ, you will be paid again."_

_Erron tipped his hat, ever the gentleman. "Pleasure doing business with you, Kotal Kahn."_

_Before he left, though, he felt his eyes pulled towards the man to the emperor's left. Still glaring, eyes narrowed. Erron felt a shiver run down his spine._

"Didn't think you needed to eat," he said through a mouthful of bread, looking up at Ermac, who had just drifted into the kitchen. 

"We are not required to eat, no. But we find enjoyment in it." Ermac glanced at the loaf of bread in Erron's hands before moving past him to rummage through a bowl of fruit. Settling on a greenish, lop-sided fruit that somewhat resembled an apple, the construct turned back towards Erron with his usual vacant expression. "Many of our souls find solace in the taste of food. It makes them feel less..."

"Dead?" Erron finished for him, voice colder than he meant it to be.

Ermac tensed for a moment. "Yes," was all he said before drifting past again, brushing up against Erron's arm.

It was the gunslinger's turn to tense, fighting the urge to recoil. Ermac didn't react. Erron supposed he was used to people treating him like that. Damn, why did that make him feel  _bad_ for the creep?

"When you are finished eating, we suggest you sleep. The emperor has business tomorrow afternoon and we are to accompany him."

Erron swallowed his bread and gave Ermac a thumbs up. "Whatever you say, partner."

Ermac looked unamused, withered lips pursing as he exhaled sharply, floating away, several bright green souls trailing along behind him. After he left, Erron let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He hadn't realized how pretty of a colour that shade of green was. 


	2. Dawn

 

 Though the sun had long since set, Erron was still awake. He'd taken the time to strip his pistols and clean them out, humming softly under his breath. A nameless tune, one that he thought he remembered from somewhere but couldn't quite place it. After the last of the grit had been flushed out and the last nooks and crannies had been properly greased, Erron set his pistols aside, within arm's reach as always, and decided to try and sleep. For some reason, though, that was easier said than done. Figures. The one night he's not pulled for the night watch shift and he can't sleep.

He curled up on the mattress, forced his eyes shut, and focused on his breathing. Slow, steady breaths in and out. Eventually sleep finally found him, dragging him down into the void.

<><><><><>

After finishing his fruit, Ermac had retired to his own chamber to meditate. He did not sleep, and considering that the palace was all but silent at night, it made for the perfect time to withdraw. Settling himself down, eyes drifting closed, the construct took in deep breaths, focusing on relaxing his body and turning his attention within. To a reasonable extent, of course. If he was not careful, Ermac knew he would be swallowed by the maelstrom of souls within; a thought that may have been frightening to most, but for him, it was a fact of existence. He knew he had never truly been alive, that it was because of the ten thousand odd souls within him that he came to be.

When Shao Kahn had been killed, Ermac had struggled for a time. Without someone to serve, all of those souls had risen up, each clamoring to take control, but Ermac had resisted. Mileena assumed her father's role as emperor, and the construct fell into line beside her. He had been created to serve the throne, and Mileena took Shao Kahn's place by his own decree, and Ermac followed her, as was his duty.

Everything changed, though, when the usurper, Kotal, and his followers confronted Mileena, revealed her true origins. 

Shao Kahn was dead, his so-called daughter was an abomination. Nothing was certain any longer.

But Ermac was never one to crumble under pressure, instead swearing his service to Kotal Kahn. Under his rule, Outworld would finally be able to rebuild, and Ermac was happy to serve under him. Well, perhaps not  _happy,_ but content.

The construct opened his eyes. Sunlight was beginning to filter in and so he rose, lifting his hood and pulling it over his brow. It was just after dawn, and so he doubted that his companions had arisen, despite the fact that they were to escort the Kahn later this morning. Ermac drifted out into the hall, tips of his toes skimming the floors. He was considering rousing the others, but passed D'Vorah and Reptile on his way, and he knew better than to disturb Ferra and Torr. What the two lacked in intelligence they more than made up for in brute strength, and Ermac did not feel like being ripped in half this particular morning.

That left only Erron Black. Ermac huffed softly.

It was no secret that he did not like mercenaries. None of them could be trusted. The idea of loyalty being able to be bought by the highest bidder, and that even then, deals were subject to the finances of the person currently employing you was almost offensive to him. He who would follow the emperor into the Netherrealm if it was asked of him. Still, Ermac acknowledged that Erron had his uses, and as far as mercenaries went, he was tolerable.

Ermac knew that Erron harbored no warm feelings for him, either. They were civil to one another for the sake of professionalism, and that was all. 

Gloved knuckles rapped impatiently on the gunslinger's door which, as usual, had been left unlocked, allowing Ermac to enter unhindered. Not that it would have mattered if it had been locked; he would have just teleported in if that were the case. The hinges creaked obnoxiously and he drifted over the gritty floor before hovering beside Erron's bed. He'd fallen asleep with one arm slung over his face and his light hair spread across his pillow like a halo. He was snoring softly, bare chest rising and falling slowly as he slept. His hat was sitting on the table beside his bed, but his mask was still fixed securely in place. Ermac wondered what he looked like without it. 

He ended up watching him longer than he probably should have.

<><><><><>

_"Dunno why Kotal Kahn keeps him around. Useful in a fight, sure, but hauling around a dead thing? Doesn't seem natural." Erron did not know that he was there, having drifted by the place he and Reptile were chatting on the palace grounds. Ermac remained hidden, obscured from view by a large thorny bush._

_"He is more valuable than you realize," Reptile had replied. "Dead thing he may be, but Ermac's souls harbor more than he lets on. There's a wealth of knowledge, experience. Besides, he works for free."_

_The gunslinger snorted. "I don't think I'd let him stick around, if I were emperor. Always skulkin' around, trailin' after Kotal like some lost puppy? Sort of pathetic, isn't it? Like doesn't he have better things to do? Or maybe he's just that desperate for acceptance."_

_Ermac had heard enough, turning and drifting away._

_He knew how people felt about him...why did hearing that make him feel so_ wrong?

<><><><><>

"Wake up, Erron Black." Ermac spoke in his usual harsh tone. Part of him wanted to shake the man awake, but he refrained from touching him, instead increasing the volume of his voice. "Wake up, Erron Black."

Erron stirred, mumbling something sleepily before lifting his arm enough to peep out at Ermac. "Ah fuck, morning already?" he grumbled. "Would it kill ya to knock, Ermac."

"We did knock, but you did not answer, so we had no choice."

The gunslinger swung his legs over the side of his bed, fumbling around before finding his hat, placing it back on top of his head before rising to get dressed. "At any rate, I'm up now. Ya don't need to stick around."

Ermac hovered in place for several seconds before nodding curtly. "That is true," he said sharply. "You will want to hurry if you do not wish to miss breakfast."

Without looking up from lacing his boots, Erron spoke. "You comin' to eat?"

Was that an invitation? Ermac shifted, fingers twitching at his sides. 

"No. We have no desire to eat this morning."

"Ah. Well, then, guess I'll be seein' you when it's time to head out, huh?"

"We suppose so."

Erron only looked up as Ermac was exiting the room, a few souls drifting lazily in the air behind him. 

...Ermac wasn't coming to breakfast, which wasn't unusual in the slightest. What was unusual was how that made Erron  _feel._ That same odd feeling from the night before crept across his skin. 

Why did knowing Ermac wouldn't be there feel so  _disappointing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ship will never die. Not while I'm still kicking. Thanks for the kudos! I honestly didn't think anyone would read this so it's a nice surprise to find those of you who are reading AND enjoying it!
> 
> Thanks to HeIheiim for being my beta reader for this chapter. <3


	3. Danger

"Don't you get hot wearin' all of that?" 

All around the air wavered, boiling in the Outworld sun, but Ermac was clad in his heavy leather cloak and layers of bandages just as always. Green eyes flicked over to Erron, who kept pace beside him, though his face was, as usual, devoid of any expression. 

"We do not understand."

"It's gotta be over a hundred degrees, Ermac, and you're dressed like it's the middle of winter," Erron said, gesturing to the construct's clothes. He was given no reply other than narrowed eyes and Ermac drifting a few inches ahead, as if to put distance between the two of them. 

A futile attempt, mused Erron, especially given where they were and what they were doing. The marketplace was packed with people going about their usual business, whether it was picking over the odd assortment of produce in the market stalls or hiding from the brutal sunlight in whatever shade they could find. Whatever they were doing, they parted like the Red Sea for the Kahn's escort, bowing their heads as the carriage passed. Erron and Ermac lead a column of the Emperor's men, the sound of their footsteps all but drowning out the buzzing voices of the crowd. The gunslinger's eyes moved swiftly, never lingering in one place for too long as he checked the throng for any signs of danger or other suspicious activity. Though despite his determination, Erron found his gaze paused for the briefest moment on the back of his companion, sliding from the construct's wide shoulders to the curve of his waist. 

_Fuck._

Erron wrinkled his nose beneath his mask and turned his attention elsewhere. Part of him wondered what exactly Kotal Kahn was up to. Instead of discussing business back at the palace, the Kahn had elected to join the mercenary Kano on this little ride, with full escort, under the blazing sun, in public. Kind of odd, but it wasn't exactly Erron's job to question why the Kahn did things. He tapped his holsters absent-mindedly; he'd be lying if he said he wasn't itching for some action. Didn't have to be a full-on fight, but anything would be better than slowly cooking in his own skin, right?

"You would do well to calm your mind, Erron Black." Ermac's dry voice gave Erron a start, and he shot the construct a scathing look. "Your disquiet is palpable."

"Get outta my head," he snapped, and under his breath so the other wouldn't hear, added, "ya fuckin' creep."

"We are not in your head," Ermac replied, almost sounding defensive. "Though we can sense your... _zeal._ "

"Zeal? Th' fuck does that mean?" Erron meant to be angry, but when he saw that Ermac was no longer floating along, his feet planted on solid ground, any anger within him died instantly. The sight was odd, but almost comical in a strangely endearing way. Ermac hardly ever walked, so each step he took was awkward, arms held out from his body at an abnormal distance, like he was struggling to keep himself balanced. 

Withered lips pulled into a scowl, the first real expression Erron had seen on Ermac's face all day. "Again you seem to find a reason to scrutinize us, Erron Black. May we ask why?"

The gunslinger shook his head. "Don't y'know how _weird_ it is to see ya walkin' instead of floatin' around?" he chuckled. "Guess I just ain't used to seein' you get around like that."

It was meant to be a joke, but Ermac seemed to miss the amusement in Erron's words, his face morphing between surprise, indignation, and finally settling into an almost pained expression, though he tried to hide it, turning his face away. Erron felt a stab of guilt, icy cold in his gut, but said nothing, and neither did Ermac.

* * *

_Floatin' around like a fuckin' ghost._

_Fuckin' creep._

_Kinda sad, really. Like he's pretendin' he was ever alive to begin with._

Ermac could remember the first time he'd forced his feet to touch the ground, stumbling like a newborn calf, legs wobbling under his own weight as he struggled to maintain his balance. Walking had never come easy to him, and since it took no effort for him to simply drift along, that was what he did. 

Now...now it was different. Everything was different after Shao Kahn died.

While Ermac would serve Outworld's Emperor for as long as he lived, truthfully he did not know how long that was anymore. Without the use of the Soul Chamber to properly rejuvenate, Ermac's body rotted away more and more with each passing day. Little more than the bandages held him together anymore, his skin dried like old leather and clinging to his shrunken frame in the places where his flesh hadn't completely withered away. Thankfully he did not need to speak much, what with his lungs rattling as they filled with grit and things he did not really wish to think of.

For a while, knowing that he was dying had not bothered Ermac very much; he would rather die than be a burden on his Kahn, after all. He was created for a purpose, and when he could no longer fulfill that purpose, Ermac would have no regrets in his passing. It was odd, though, how things could change. How feelings and thoughts could change.

Truthfully, he was not scared of dying - he had never really lived, after all - but Ermac found himself thinking about Erron of all people. The gunslinger held no warm feelings towards him, the construct knew, but still. It felt almost as though there was something he wanted to say, to do, before he crumbled into a pile of dust and fragments of bone, but Ermac wasn't exactly sure what that something was.

And that frightened him.

In the meantime, he simply tried to act more  _human_ when around the public. A ridiculous facade, but Ermac clung to that last bit of humanity as if it were the only thing holding him together. 

_Don't y'know how weird it is to see ya walkin'_ _?_

Perhaps it had been said in jest, but Ermac glared down at his feet as if they had betrayed him. He couldn't even  _pretend_ to be alive properly.

Pathetic.

* * *

Erron cleared his throat, still looking over at Ermac, who was still walking, though his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. 

"Look, Ermac, I didn't mean to -"

Before he could finish, several things happened at once. Voices shouted words of warning as a wall of crates and boxes came tumbling down into the roadway before them. Ever the dutiful servant, Ermac had moved forward instantly to help clear the way, but before he could even start, a cacophony of screams rose from behind them. 

"Mileena," Ermac spat, the name edged with venom, and a tidal wave of the deposed khanum's men came crashing upon them.

Pistols were pulled from their holsters with ease, Erron felling several of the hoard before they reached the carriage, but they were just as quickly replaced by countless more of the snarling behemoths. He caught a glimpse of Ermac, who was calming lifting his foes into the air and snapping their spines like dried twigs. Erron shook his head, turning just in time to dodge a swipe from one of the Tarkatan's blades. He stuffed his pistol into the ugly bastard's mouth, pulling the trigger and watching as his head burst into a bloody mist. 

_Ermac's gonna be fine, he can take care of himself. You can apologize later. Stay focused, ya dumb fuck._

Erron silently chided himself as he cracked his gun across another Tarkatan's face, teeth flying out in all directions. He managed to hold his ground, focusing on keeping his footing as the ground below turned into a marsh of blood and entrails. If he slipped and fell now, he was a dead man. Though, in all actuality, it was likely he was a dead man anyway. It was a bloodbath; Kotal's men were overrun, only a handful having survived the initial attack to keep fighting. D'Vorah seemed to be doing fine, at least, no foe able to even get close enough to her to land a blow. 

The gunslinger found Ermac again as well, the construct lifted a foot into the air, souls churning around him in an angry green mist as he slaughtered any man that got within a few feet of him. For some reason that almost made Erron feel proud. But even Ermac wasn't omnipotent, and Erron spotted a Tarkatan rushing his flank, just out of view. Swiftly pivoting, ignoring his own assailants for a moment, Erron put a bullet in the fucker's skull, watching in a sick sort of satisfaction as bits of bone and squishy grey brain splattered across the ground.

Ermac looked at the dead Tarkatan before glancing up at Erron, giving him a nod. As close to thanks as he was going to get for the moment, but Erron didn't care. He grinned behind his mask, turning back to the fight before him, but he'd been distracted a second too long.

His hat flew from his head as an elbow cracked across his temple, sending the gunslinger reeling. He stumbled, ankle twisting as his boot sank into the thick, bloody sludge, and Erron fell onto all fours, vision blurry.

_He was gonna die, wasn't he?_

Erron glanced up at the Tarkatan who was lunging forward, needle-like teeth reflecting his bewildered expression. His head throbbed, he felt a searing pain slash across his right bicep, and his vision went crimson and black in rapid succession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I need to update this one more often, huh? I have the next few chapters written, so hopefully I'll be able to update at least once a week from here on out. 
> 
> Another really short one, I'm afraid, but this should do it for the awkward character introductions and the like, so now the actual story can begin! As always, thank you so much for reading! Your kudos and comments mean so much to me! Love to you all <3


	4. Destruction

The kahn's men around him shouted warnings to one another, the wild fear in their eyes making them look like animals caught in a trap. Ermac turned to where the Tarkatans poured from the cracks between buildings with no such qualms. He had been created as a weapon, made to shed blood in the name of whomever held his chains. And so the construct lifted the first foe within range into the air, body folding in on itself like it was nothing more than a piece of paper. Casually, he tossed the crumpled corpse aside before repeating the process with any beast that dared get too close. 

As the scorched sand below struggled to lap up the amount of blood flooding across its surface, Ermac lifted himself above the gory mire as he continued his assault. A barricade of contorted bodies steadily rose around him, bones jutting from shredded flesh as he killed again and again without hesitation. If any of Mileena's lackeys wished to attack the Kahn, they would have to go through him first. Green eyes glowed venemously from beneath his hood, his souls an enraged vortex of green as they burst forth in an unstoppable energy. 

For a moment, though, even the construct was vulnerable; he was so focused on dispatching his current foe that he didn't notice the Tarkatan that had made a lunge for him just out of eyesight. The sound of Erron Black's pistols rang through the battle, but this time Ermac heard the bullet as it streaked past him, popping his would-be attacker's skull open like a blood-filled balloon. He gave Erron a curt nod and that was as close to a thank-you as he could give at present. The battle was far from over, after all.

In a somewhat twisted sense, it almost felt good to be fighting like this again. Being comprised of thousands of warrior souls made him crave battle in a way he craved little else. He had no need for food or sleep, but the thrill of combat made Ermac feel as alive as he possibly could. As a weapon, it did him little good to sit around doing nothing. At least when he was fighting he felt like he was fulfilling his purpose. Gloved hands made brief contact with another slobbering beast as it came within arm's length, cracking his fist across the Tarkatan's jaw with a satisfying crunch. Blood and spit and teeth burst from its jaw at the impact, Ermac taking advantage of the situation to grab it by the head, twisting until its neck snapped. Any thrill he felt at the brief victory was just as quickly snuffed out when he glanced over to see how his companions were faring.

The Kytinn slew her foes just as brutally as he, her joyous cries at their deaths rising even above the uproar. Erron Black, however, did not seem to be getting on so well. In the moment he'd been focused on shooting the Tarkatan poised to kill Ermac, he'd been incapacitated by another. Ermac could hear the blow from where he stood as the behemoth slammed its elbow across the gunslinger's head. The man reeled like a drunk for several long seconds before he slipped in the mud and blood, falling onto his hands and knees. The Tarkatan lifted its arm, ready to plunge its blade through Erron's skull. 

_It's your fault,_ his souls seemed to taunt him from within.  _He saved you and now he will die._

Never before had Ermac felt rage broil through him like he did in this moment. There was no thought, no decision made; his body simply threw itself forward out of sheer instinct. Souls burst out in a boiling green storm, constricting the Tarkatan and lifting it high into the air. He twisted the body like he was wringing out a washrag, every bone inside crunching, blood gushing from every orifice. Only when he was certain that the last bit of air was squeezed from the Tarkatan's brutalized lungs did Ermac relent, ruined body flopped into an impossible position, limbs sticking out at impossible angles. 

Below, vision still swimming, Erron watched in horrified fascination as his assailant's twitching carcass was gutted, intestines and lungs and bits of viscera he didn't care to look at long enough to identify came slithering out of its mouth and nostrils. Only when it was devoid of any further innards did Ermac throw the body away. Yet his face remained a terrifying mask of fury as he repeated the disgusting method of slaughter on a half dozen more Tarkatans. Erron caught him shouting something, but whether it was because of his rapidly deteriorating mental state or because Ermac was speaking Edenian, he couldn't quite make out what was being said. 

Black dotted his vision again, and he flopped onto his side, unable to fight off unconsciousness any longer.

* * *

Mileena herself, along with what remained of her men and the traitorous Kano, fled in the distance. The survivors of the massacre were gathered up, tossed onto stretchers to be carted off to the closest healer. Ermac had found Erron laying limp amidst the carnage, covered in blood and muck but alive. The gunslinger's injuries were serious, but not life-threatening, so it was decided that he should be taken to the infirmary at the palace to be patched up. As the battle-lust faded from his bones, Ermac simply felt tired, though there was another, colder sensation that replaced the fire that had boiled within his veins. 

Fear.

He was afraid for Erron. Yes, he would survive his wounds, but even that knowledge did little to ease Ermac's mind. He still  _worried._

The construct cursed himself softly, turning back to help clear the way so the kahn's carriage could make its way back to the palace. Emotions were a distraction. He had no use for such sentiments. Only the Emperor himself was deserving of his concern, of his undying devotion. That was what he had been created for, after all. Anything less would be a disgrace. What would Shao Kahn think of him, worrying himself over some  _human,_ and a mercenary too, for that matter?

Ermac froze, his souls buzzing about within, collective voices hushing as one oozed out, still laced with every bit of hatred he held within from the moment of his destruction.

_I created you for more, Ermac._

Gloved fingers reached up, skimmed over his tattered bandages, brushed against the green stone on his forehead. Ermac exhaled, focusing himself, and the voices of his souls returned to their usual, monotonous thrum. It had been a very long time since he had heard the voice of Shao Kahn, even with his former master's soul contained within him. He didn't know whether or not hearing him should be a cause for concern, so Ermac decided to ignore it for now. After all, it wasn't like he never heard the single voices of souls from time to time. It was inevitable; there was always at least one soul vying for control, but his will was too strong to be broken like that. 

The path was cleared mere moments later, the kahn's carriage starting off on its return journey. So few men remained as an escort, but Ermac and D'Vorah led those that survived in a silent march. A pair of men carried Erron's stretcher, the gunslinger still unconscious. Aside from the nasty bruise on the side of his head and the slash from where the Tarkatan's killing blow had been deflected, he didn't look too bad. 

_Though truthfully he never really did look too bad,_ Ermac caught himself thinking.  _Even if he does wear far too much eye black._

Again he cursed himself viciously under his breath. What he needed was a very long, very silent meditation session to purge his mind of these distracting and  _pathetic_ emotions. 

"Ermac." Kotal's voice rang from the carriage, and instantly the construct turned, toes skimming the sand as he floated back through the column. He bowed in greeting and the Osh-Tekk gestured for him to relax. Ermac floated alongside the carriage as his emperor spoke. "It is good you were not damaged in the fighting. When we return to the palace, you will escort the remaining men to the barracks and debrief the next guard rotation on the attack; tell them the overnight patrol is to be doubled. After you have done this you will take the night to rest."

"Yes, our Kahn," Ermac said, bowing his head. "But would you not wish us to assist with the evening watch? We do not require sleep and we would -"

Kotal held up a hand and Ermac immediately fell silent. "No. You will rest. I witnessed your fighting. It must have taken a great deal of energy to have slaughtered so many men in that fashion. You would be of no use if you did not at least take some time to recoup that energy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, our Kahn," Ermac said once more. "We will do as you have instructed."

"Very good. Thank you, Ermac. You are dismissed."

The construct bowed again and resumed his position at the head of the column. 

* * *

_Eyes glared from beneath a heavy helm, sweat-slick muscles reflecting the torchlight. He watched from his resting place, still save for the rise and fall of his chest, as Shao Kahn crossed the room. His wrath was directed elsewhere, it seemed, and so Ermac allowed himself to close his eyes once more. He was very tired. More tired than he had felt ever before._

_From his bedside he could hear Shao Kahn roaring, glass shattering, Shang Tsung's spluttered apologies. It seemed the emperor was infuriated by Ermac's defeat at the hands of Liu Kang, but placed the blame on the sorcerer alone. That and the fact that after the battle, Shang Tsung had left Ermac alone and wounded for nearly an hour before sending for someone to take him to the soul chamber for rejuvenation. The moment Shao Kahn concluded his tirade, the sorcerer fled the room, Ermac only opening his mouth to speak once he heard the door slam._

_"Forgive us, our kahn, we have failed you. We do not deserve your m -"_

_Shao Kahn lifted a hand and the construct flinched, shying away as he reached out. He braced himself for the inevitable blow, the thud as the emperor's fist struck him across the jaw. But to his immense surprise, the movement was not to harm, but instead Shao Kahn made sure the gem at his forehead was still intact before giving him a uncharacteristically soft look. When his mouth opened to speak, though, it was not his voice that issued forth. It was a grating, but feminine voice that set Ermac's skin crawling._

_"Ermac. Wake."_

* * *

The construct opened his eyes, pulling himself out of his trance. He seldom delved into his meditations so deeply that he slipped out of reality in such a manner, but it was not unheard of. Ermac lifted his gaze to meet the eye of D'Vorah, who was standing over him and looking mildly irritated. Without a word he drifted upward until he reached his full height, lips pursed in a tight line. Though the two of them worked together and shared a mutual respect, Ermac could not think of the last time D'Vorah had spoken with him in private, let alone sought him out.

"Are we needed?" Ermac asked, but the Kytinn shook her head. 

"No, but the healers in the infirmary though you would wish to know when Erron Black awoke. And he is awake now."

Ermac was even more confused, brow furrowing. "Why would the healers think we would wish to know this?" Admittedly, he was relieved to hear this news, but that didn't explain why he was being sent for.

"They were told of how you intervened on the mercenary's behalf. Surely you at least wish to know he will recover?" As void of mirth as her face was, D'Vorah's voice held the faintest echo of laughter. Green eyes narrowed in response, but still the construct nodded.

"Very well. We will go to the infirmary to see him, then." He and the Kytinn bowed their heads politely and she departed, leaving Ermac alone in his room once more. 

After taking a moment to make sure the bandages on his face were still tight, the construct made his way to the infirmary. Truthfully it was a pleasant trip; Kotal Kahn's palace was far brighter than his predecessor's, with great glass windows that sent sunlight streaming in. Paintings and sculptures adorned the halls, and the stone floors were laid with brightly coloured tiles. Construction was still ongoing, with the emperor having an entire new wing added, as well as expanding on the courtyard. Sometimes Ermac felt lost, like he did not quite belong here, where things were alive and growing and changing, but he simply reminded himself that of course he belonged beside the kahn. And so he remained, and would, until he was no more.

Finally he reached the infirmary, greeting one of the healers briefly, who pointed in the direction of where Erron Black was recovering. Ermac thanked them before turning that way and drifting over, passing empty beds and privacy partitions, but before he could reach Erron's bed, he paused, hearing voices. It seemed he wasn't the first person to come and visit the gunslinger; other than Erron, he also made out Reptile's voice. 

"Nah, the stitches are nothin'. I've had worse." Erron laughed, and the sound brought a rare smile to Ermac's lips. "Really I oughta thank him, but I'm not sure how."

Reptile scoffed. "It's Ermac. I'm sure just saying it would be enough for him."

"Yeah, maybe. But I've been pretty harsh towards him and he doesn't deserve it. I know he ain't too friendly, but I feel like I should do somethin'."

The construct shifted, brow furrowed. Was Erron truly trying to think of a way to repay him for saving him earlier? He dare not hope that was the case. Besides, he didn't save the man for thanks. He saved him because... Ermac stopped himself; that was a dangerous path to go down. Especially here and now. 

"Don't reckon he likes whiskey, do ya?"

"If you were ever able to get Ermac to drink, I'd love to be there."

The pair began chatting about different kinds of alcohol and Ermac turned away, shaking his head. Erron was busy, and seeing him would just have to wait. 


	5. Diligence

"I don't suppose I could convince you to stay for the night, Mr. Black?" The healer made sure the dressing on his arm was still wrapped properly, and Erron shook his head.

"Nah, don't suppose y'could," he grumbled, pulling himself to his feet. "I'm still kickin', but I promise I'll come back if anything changes." As soon as he'd woken up, he'd been ready to get the hell out of this place; for some reason infirmaries and hospitals set him on edge. Even if they had decently attractive healers like this sweet ginger-haired thing. She sighed and helped him to his feet.

"That's better than nothing," she said, though it was obvious she wasn't entirely pleased with his decision to leave so soon after being brought in. "Please just be mindful of yourself and don't do anything strenuous for at least the next few days. The blow to your head wasn't severe enough to fracture the skull, but if you feel nauseous or faint, please come back." 

Erron tipped his hat in her direction and excused himself. It was getting late, with the few remaining rays of sunlight bloody as they died, swallowed up by the gathering night. Maybe it wasn't the  _best_ idea after spending the better part of his day unconscious, but Erron decided it was as good a time as any to crack open the bourbon he had stashed back in his room. While Outworld wasn't short on alcohol, the liquor they distilled here wasn't exactly palatable. Sure, it'd get you drunk, but Erron found the roaring hangovers that plagued him after a night of drinking Outworld beer or wine seldom worth it. So when he'd seen a merchant selling Earthrealm booze about six months ago, he had to buy a bottle of bourbon, saving it for a special occasion.

Like not getting skull-fucked by a Tarkatan. 

The gunslinger took his time heading up the stairs, ribs aching a bit from the heavy bruising. Shang Tsung might've extended his lifespan, but that didn't stop him from feeling old sometimes. When he reached the top, Erron took a moment to steady his breathing before continuing down the hall. Apparently it was late enough that pretty much everyone else was likely either starting guard duty or asleep, so thankfully he didn't pass anyone as he came to his own door. Still, he found himself hesitating as his fingers wrapped around the doorknob. Eyes slid over, towards the door at the end of the hall. Ermac's door. Light flickered from the gap beneath, suggesting that the construct was still awake. Though that shouldn't be surprising, seeing as he never slept.

Erron frowned, brow furrowing as he remained frozen in the hallway, paralyzed by indecision. Part of him wanted nothing more than to kick back and sip his precious bourbon until his sore brain was coaxed into a warm and blissful stupor, but another part wanted to knock on Ermac's door and thank him. After all, Erron still felt that lingering guilt in his gut after their earlier interaction, and Ermac was the only reason he was alive to drink that bourbon anyway.

Besides, drinking was always better with company. Even if that company was a walking corpse. 

Erron pushed open his door and retrieved the bottle hidden beneath his bed, filling the flask he kept on his nightstand before hiding the bottle again. Stuffing the flask into his pocket, the gunslinger made sure his door was shut tight and approached Ermac's. He didn't hesitate as he lifted his hand, rapping his knuckles against the wooden surface in a manner more confident than he felt. After all, Erron mostly expected the construct to turn him away, and really he wouldn't blame him. They hadn't gotten off on the right foot from the get-go, and Erron hadn't even attempted to improve the situation. While they were civil to one another, they weren't exactly friendly, and that was knowledge that had been gnawing at him more and more, and Erron didn't know why, but he didn't like it.

The hinges groaned in protest as Ermac opened the door. For a brief moment he looked surprised - Erron doubted he got many visitors, let alone this late at night - but then the construct's eyes narrowed when he realized who it was on the other side. 

"Erron Black," he said tersely. "We did not expect to see you moving about so soon after your injury."

Erron rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, my skull wasn't fractured, so I didn't see a need to hang around." He locked eyes with Ermac, just as unsettled as ever by that intense green. "Healers said it coulda been a helluva lot worse. And it probably woulda been, if it weren't for you."

It was Ermac's turn to look uncomfortable; though his eyes never left Erron's, his nostrils flared like they always did when he was thinking hard.  _God, why did Erron know that?_

"You may not be bound to the emperor as we are, but still you are under his employ. We would not see your life wasted."

"Maybe, but that still don't mean you had to do what you did, and I'm thankful for it."

To Erron's surprise, Ermac's face softened a degree, an expression that almost looked pleased passing briefly across his sunken features. 

"You are welcome, Erron Black."

The two of them stood like that for a few moments, shared silence strangely soothing as Erron found his gaze slipping down the construct's cheeks, lingering on his lips for a second too long. Something Ermac picked up on, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"If that is all, Erron Black, we should return to our meditations, and you should return to your rest. We bid you good-night."

Erron's stomach lurched and he threw out a hand to stop the door from closing. "Wait, no, I don't...I mean...d'you wanna check the perimeter?" he blurted out. Great. Not awkward at all.

"Check the perimeter?" Ermac cocked his head. "We do not understand. You are not on guard duty tonight, and neither are we."

"That ain't the point, Ermac," the gunslinger said, miffed. "Don't you ever do anything just for the hell of it? For fun?"

"We are a servant of our kahn, created as a weapon and tool. We were not made to have  _fun._ "

Maybe that shouldn't have come as a surprise, but Erron still felt that same odd ache in his gut. It wasn't pity, but something deeper. 

"C'mon, Ermac. Like y'said, neither of us have the night shift. It's just a walk. Get some fresh air." Erron tried not to sound desperate. "What d'you say?"

Green eyes blinked slowly before Ermac nodded, drifting out into the hallway and closing the door behind him. "Very well. We shall accompany you on this walk, if only to ensure you do not collapse somewhere and further your injuries."

For a moment Erron was almost offended, but only until he saw the slight smile tugging at the corners of the construct's lips. "Was that a joke?" he asked, laughing. "Didn't think you had it in you."

The walk to the courtyard took a bit longer than expected, with Erron having to take his time making his way back down the stairs once more. If Ermac noticed, he didn't say anything, but slowed all the same so they remained side by side. When they reached the main floor, it was nearly pitch black, save for the puddles of moonlight streaming in through the windows and the few torches sputtering along the walls. Ermac glowed faintly in the dark, the souls that orbited his torso emitting their usual green light, though it was more prominent now than Erron could ever remember seeing it. The guards posted at the main entrance pushed the doors open and the pair stepped out into the blissfully cool evening air, Erron filling his lungs as deeply as he could with the sweet breeze.

Even Ermac seemed more relaxed than usual, feet planted on the ground as he gazed up into the night sky. Erron crossed his arms and looked up himself, in awe at the count of stars spattered across the void. 

"Used to know all of th' constellations," he mused, "but that was a long time ago. And I doubt the stars here in Outworld are the same as the ones back h-...in Earthrealm."

"We are unfamiliar with them as well." Ermac frowned. "We could not see them from Shao Kahn's fortress."

"Oh? Yeah, I never spent much time there myself. Gave me the creeps."

"Oftentimes we forget you worked for Shao Kahn; we cannot recall ever seeing you at the palace."

"Yeah, well, Shao Kahn had Black Dragon doin' all kinds of shit for him, so my work didn't really require me to be there."

An owl called from somewhere nearby, giving both of them a start. Erron cursed under his breath and plopped heavily onto one of the stone benches nearby, gesturing for Ermac to join him. As expected, the construct politely declined, though he stood to Erron's left, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the stars above. Briefly a shooting star carved a silvery path through the sky, and the sight brought a smile to Ermac's lips. 

"Ah shit, I nearly forgot." Erron retrieved his flask from his pocket, screwing open the top and taking a swig, groaning appreciatively at the comforting warmth that slid down his throat. "Share a drink with me?" He held out the flask towards Ermac, who lifted a hand to decline.

"We do not drink," he said, "but we thank you."

Once more exasperated, though this time the feeling was mixed with something akin to fondness. "It's called a gesture, Ermac. I got a lot to make up for."

"Make up for?" 

"Quit bullshittin' me. You know damn well we haven't been too kind towards one another, but I still feel... _bad_ about some of the things I've said to ya. And you  _did_ save my life earlier, so maybe we can start over. Try and be a little less resentful towards each other. Whaddaya say?"

For several long moments Ermac's eyes flicked between the flask in Erron's outstretched hand and the gunslinger's own face. Eventually, still with some hesitation, the construct reached out and took the flask, lifting it to his withered lips and taking a meager swallow. He coughed at the unfamiliar burn of the bourbon as it trickled down his throat, passing the flask back with a weary expression.

"And you...find pleasure drinking that?" Ermac asked, nose wrinkled.

Erron laughed. "It's an acquired taste." He poured a healthy measure down his own throat. 

"Is it customary to show gratitude in this manner in Earthrealm? By sharing liquor?"

"You should know I ain't really one for custom by now, Ermac. But among some groups, yeah, sure."

"Some groups?"

"Friends, mostly."

Ermac seemed taken aback. "You would call us your friend, then?"

"Why not?" Erron shrugged. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."

"No, we...like the sound of that."

* * *

Erron looked up from the hunting knife he was sharpening, setting the blade aside to stand.

"Afternoon, Ermac. If I'd have known you were comin' I woulda tried to tidy the place up a bit." His room was far from dirty, but he'd taken most of the morning to clean and spruce up his weapons, meaning they were strewn about. 

"You need not trouble yourself, Erron Black. We apologize for the sudden intrusion."

"How many times do I gotta tell you; you don't have to be so formal around me." Erron slid the knife into its sheath, setting it aside. 

"Again, we apologize." 

"Ah, forget it. What brings you by? Shit, I didn't forget a patrol, did I?"

Ermac flashed a rare smile. "No, nothing of the sort. We did not see you for breakfast, but wondered if you would like to accompany us for lunch?"

Before Erron could answer, his stomach answered for him, snarling viciously. "I could go for something to eat, sure." The gunslinger grinned, following Ermac out into the hallway. It had been nearly a week since their walk through the courtyard, and Erron had to admit that it was nice to be friends with Ermac. Sure, it wasn't like they spent every waking moment together, but their interactions were no longer unpleasant. 

Though it seemed the change in the air around them was noticed by more than the pair of them. After lunch, Ermac excused himself to meditate, and before Erron could leave, Kotal Kahn stopped him.

"I have noticed that you and Ermac seem to be far more amicable of late, Mr. Black," the emperor said. His face was as stoic as ever, but there was mirth veiled in his words. 

Erron choked on the last drink of water in his glass. "I...guess you could say that," he rasped. 

Kotal chuckled. "Please, do not misunderstand me; I am pleased. Ermac is a complicated being. I did not think him capable of being...companionable."

Unable to think of anything to say, Erron just shrugged, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling in his gut. Companionable? Friends? Something stirred, blurring the line in the sand Erron had drawn. Though between companions and whatever else was shrouded from him. He excused himself from the dining hall, careful to avoid Ermac as he locked the door to his room behind him. Of course this failed, with Ermac knocking on the door not an hour later, which Erron ignored.

His mind was already a mess even before he downed what remained in his flask.

On the other side of the door, Ermac waited, though it became increasingly obvious that the gunslinger had no intention of speaking to him. The aberration turned, drifting back into his own chamber, disregarding the disquiet amongst his souls. 

_Just pretending to be alive._

Perhaps being alone was best after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't wanted to knock two characters' heads together this bad in many a moon.  
> Apologies for another brief chapter, but tension is building so the next should be a little more...substantial :3c


	6. Decay

It was a very rare thing for Outworld to experience such a downpour, but earlier that afternoon the heavens rent open and rain slashed down sharp enough to cut. Erron watched the water cascade down his window in sheets, glad he wasn't the sorry bastard scheduled for the evening patrol. Instead, he was the sorry bastard who'd decided to spend the night skulking. The bourbon was long gone, and though he wouldn't mind being plastered, Erron hadn't quite reached the level of desperation necessary to drown himself in Outworld liquor. 

No, instead he'd just spend the hours listening to the storm rage outside, just as angry and baleful as everything else in this realm. Erron drummed his fingers against the windowsill, trying to keep his focus on the raindrops chasing one another down the glass, but when unhindered by alcohol, his thoughts wandered to the exact place he didn't want them to go. 

Ermac.

"Fuck," Erron snarled, shoving back his chair and rising to his feet. He really didn't know why he was tying himself in knots over this. 

After all, he  _was_ the one who had encouraged their friendship. He was the one who had taken that first step. So why did it bother him when people pointed that out? Erron was growing to like the construct. It was good that they were friends. 

He chewed his lip until he tasted blood. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe he was growing to like Ermac a little  _too_  much. Maybe he'd always felt that way. Erron shook his head, wanting to slap himself across the face. That was ridiculous; they were friends, and that was it. The times he had caught himself staring at Ermac were accidental. There was no further meaning than mere coincidence. Ermac was a withered, leathery echo of a human. A formidable and impressively strong echo, to be certain, but an echo nonetheless. 

An echo with undeniably pretty eyes. 

"Fuck off," Erron growled to the empty air, as if the thoughts in his head weren't his own. 

In a last-ditch attempt to distract himself, he decided to head down to the kitchens for something to eat. He wasn't really hungry, but maybe the walk would burn off some of this nervous energy. Or at least enough of it that he could finally sleep. Erron tugged on his boots and shoved open the door, slipping out into the dark hallway as quietly as he could. The elder gods had a cruel sense of humor, though, because when he turned around, Erron was face to face with Ermac.

"Good evening, Erron Black." The construct's voice was its usual deadpan, eyes shining from beneath his soaked cowl. A rapidly-expanding puddle was gathered beneath him as rainwater steadily dripped from the hem of his cloak.

"Ya scared the shit outta me," Erron said breathlessly. 

"Our sincerest apologies." There was the slightest edge to the words. Slight enough that Erron barely caught it, but it made him wince all the same.

"Nah, it's fine." The gunslinger cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. Seeming to read his hesitation, Ermac mumbled something that sounded like "good-night" before drifting off, sliding into his chambers and closing the door a little louder than usual.

Cursing under his breath, Erron avoided slipping in the puddle Ermac had left behind, continuing his trek to the kitchens. He couldn't help but feel some concern for Ermac, though; he wasn't in great shape, after all, and it couldn't be good for him to be getting drenched like that. Erron knew better than to voice his concern, however. The construct would brush it aside with the same _'we exist to serve'_ bullshit. 

When he finally reached his destination, Erron still didn't really feel like eating, but forced himself to grab a piece of brownish-yellow fruit and some dried meat so at least the trip wasn't totally useless. The fruit tasted strangely salty, but he wasn't really paying attention to what he was putting in his mouth as he returned to his room. It seemed his plan had worked somewhat, with him finally tired enough to lay down upon his return. Erron tossed the fruit's pit aside and kicked off his boots, counting the raindrops on the windowpane until he finally succumbed to sleep.

* * *

"Ain't seen him since last night. Why?" Erron set down his drink and shot Reptile a look from across the banquet table. "Something up?"

Reptile hissed, tongue slithering briefly out from between his scaly lips as he shook his head. "No. It is not like him to be absent this frequently."

"Dunno what you're on about. He doesn't eat anyway."

"That is irrelevant. Ermac accompanies Kotal Kahn wherever he goes, does he not?"

Erron shrugged, shoving aside his mostly untouched breakfast platter. "Didn't know it was my job to babysit him," he snapped. For a moment, Reptile seemed caught off guard by the outburst; Erron was usually pretty laid-back after all, but it was easy to see the ends of his facade fraying. 

"All I was saying was that you have talked to him more in the past few weeks than most of us have at all. If anyone was to know why he has been absent so frequently -"

The gunslinger stood and sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Look, I ain't...I ain't tryin' to be an ass, all right, but I ain't gettin' paid to keep tabs on Ermac, so your guess is as good as mine." He gave Reptile a nod before excusing himself from the banquet hall. 

It had been a restless night, and Erron wanted nothing more than to stretch his legs before trying to get some rest. He'd been pulled for the night rotation after all, so it wasn't like he'd be catching up on missed sleep later that evening. It was late morning, so the heat was tolerable, making a walk around the grounds less hellish than usual. Still, Erron kept his hat pulled low, scowling beneath his leather mask.  

It wasn't his job to babysit. It wasn't his job to find out why Ermac hadn't been trailing around after Kotal like a puppy like he usually did.

Ermac wasn't his...

Erron cursed to himself, kicking at a loose stone in the path. Ermac wasn't his  _what?_ They were friends, right? Or did he not even want that anymore? Or maybe it wasn't the fact that they were friends, but rather that they weren't something else instead. But whatever that something else was, it was starting to royally piss him off. The gunslinger stopped in his tracks and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

The fact remained that they  _were_ friends, no matter what he did - or did not - want. And his friend hadn't been acting normally. Considering that Ermac was very much a creature of habit, Erron couldn't help but worry.

Maybe it wasn't his job as one of the kahn's hired guns, but it was his job as Ermac's friend to check up on him. Tomorrow morning, after his guard patrol, Erron decided he was going to do exactly that.

* * *

Every cough that tore itself from his throat felt like wet sandpaper was being dragged up and down his windpipe. Ermac knew it was likely because of the amount of water he'd been exposed to during his shift the previous evening, but despite knowing the dangers of being wet for too long, the construct remembered his place and his duty. 

Still, even he had to admit that it was reckless to have remained out in the rain for as long as he had. For a while his leather cloak had kept the worst of the damp away, but as the precipitation had grown heavier, it wasn't long before his bandages had gotten wet, and that was the beginning of the end. With no other barrier between he and the rain, Ermac's dehydrated, withered skin had soaked up the water like a sponge. A sponge that, try as he might, refused to fully wring out, meaning he was still feeling sluggish with the amount of it that his bloated body had taken in.

As dawn crept in and the clouds broke, Ermac had decided it might be best to take a closer look at the extent of the damage. Slowly, so as not to slough off any flesh, the construct unwound the damp bandages from his extremities, laying them out to dry. It was the most undressed he had been in longer than he cared to remember, stripping away layer after layer of material until his torso was stripped bare, leaving him in only a loose pair of trousers. Ermac carefully examined his arms first; despite being somewhat mushy, it seemed like they were intact. 

Next he checked his face, followed by his legs. Everything seemed like it would be no worse for wear, so long as he dried out sooner than later. That is, until he reached his torso. Ermac grimaced, cursing softly in Edenian when he felt that his brace had loosened, metal bolts catching his softened skin painfully. It would need to be tightened.

As painful as the process was, it wasn't like he had another option. The rot claimed more and more of his body with each passing season, and without Shao Kahn's magic or the steady influx of souls, Ermac had long since resigned himself to the fact that it was only a matter of time before he quite literally fell apart. For a while the brace had held up well, the latticework one of his own creation, designed to hold his arms in place and to keep his torso from falling apart. He had been alone when he had pounded it into place; sometimes he could still hear the dull cracks as the bolts had pierced into his ribs for the first time. So tightening it by himself was something Ermac was used to, even if it was not a task he looked forward to. 

The construct gathered the necessary tools before clearing a place for himself on the bed. In all likelihood, it would take him at least two or three hours to ensure the brace was tightened properly, so at the very least he could make sure the surface on which he lay was somewhat comfortable. Ermac gave himself one last once over, just to make sure there weren't any other areas of his body that required attention, before he lay down. 

Immediately there was a soft squelching noise, water squishing out of his spongy flesh, and Ermac let out a disgusted breath. Gently he touched the ends of the lattice, checking to see if the bolts were still embedded in his bones. Thankfully they were, though the softness of his damp skin had allowed them to wiggle and loosen. Nothing a few twists and taps couldn't fix. 

He had gotten off lucky, it seemed. Or, at the very least, luckier than it could have been. 

Ermac lifted an instrument that vaguely resembled a pair of pliers and grasped one of the loose bolts. Despite his body's deteriorating condition, a flash of white-hot pain shot up the bone, the construct groaning softly in protest. At least he knew the nerves hadn't been damaged. 

Nerves. 

Ermac growled under his breath; the pain had passed quickly but he was reminded of something else that had gotten on his nerves as of late. 

Erron Black. 

He had been behaving strangely, wanting to be Ermac's friend one moment before acting as if he wanted nothing to do with the construct the next. It was irritating, discouraging - it made Ermac feel confused, conflicted... And something else. Sad, perhaps? It was difficult to name all of these strange emotions he felt. After all, he had not been created to have feelings. He scowled, shifting his grip on the pliers as he forced the image of Erron from his mind. He held the bolt in place with one hand while the other lifted a small brass hammer, gritting his teeth against the inevitable pain as he lifted the tool and gave a firm tap. 

The bone creaked, liquid fire poured through his veins, and with a cry, Ermac went limp.

* * *

Erron woke to catch the last rays of the sunset filtering through the window, twisting to pop his back before forcing himself up out of bed. He hadn't napped in a long while, and while he still felt a bit tired, at least he knew he wasn't heading in to his overnight shift on no sleep. Fingers tugged on and laced up his boots by muscle memory alone before he snatched up his mask, stuffing it into his pocket. He'd breathe the free air for a bit before putting it on. The desert sun would have made quick work of drying up any of the remaining moisture from the previous night's storm, but Erron knew there would be a chill in the air, so he grabbed one of the duster coats he had hanging in his wardrobe. 

The smell of leather was warm and friendly in his nostrils as he slipped his arms into the sleeves, adjusting the collar and pushing open the door out to the hallway. He had at least half an hour before it was time to him to relieve Reptile, so Erron decided he'd take his time heading out to the grounds. Out in the hallway, it was nearly dead quiet, save for the distant sound of voices echoing as what sounded like a pair of servants were heading up the stairs. Erron was about to head in their direction when he heard another sound. 

It was muffled, so for a few seconds he questioned whether or not he'd actually heard it, standing stock still and ears perked until, yes, there it was again. Erron turned in the direction it had come from, eyes widening when he realized the noise's origin.

_Ermac's room._

He hustled over to the door and listened again. Through the wood came the sound of metal tapping - the sound that had originally caught his attention. But then it was followed by something else. Something that he hadn't been able to hear until he'd put his ear to the door. After each metallic noise came a faint, strangled groan. Erron felt his heart leap into his throat as he all but kicked the door in, thankful that Ermac wasn't in the habit of locking it.

"Ermac, what the hell is -" Erron froze as he scrambled into the room.

He hadn't ever seen Ermac so  _uncovered_ before, wearing only his trousers, body unconcealed by bandages save for a few still loosely wound around his face. Ermac propped himself up on his elbows from the place where he lay, mouth opening as if to speak - likely to demand to know why Erron had just burst in - but instead his arms shook and he grimaced weakly, resuming his tired, supine position. That only exacerbated Erron's worry, the gunslinger approaching the bed and staring down at what he slowly realized was the source of the metallic tapping sound.

In one of his hands, Ermac clutched a hammer, in the other a pair of crude grips. That, paired with the tender looking flesh surrounding the metal latticework attached to the construct's torso, pulled a soft noise from Erron's lips.

"May we be of assistance, Erron Black?" Ermac snarled, and Erron immediately turned his attention to the construct's face. He looked understandably upset, face a maelstrom of emotions shifting between irritation, embarrassment, and something like fear. 

"I'm sorry, I shoulda knocked, but you...I heard ya and thought..." Erron's brow furrowed. "Y'sounded like you were hurtin'."

"We  _are._ But it is no concern of yours." Ermac sounded exhausted. "We are not unused to the pain, and the process is necessary."

"Y'mean this  _thing_ is holdin' you together, don't you?"

"Yes, that is correct."

Erron didn't know what to say to that. He knew Ermac was in rough shape, sure, but seeing the damage and the efforts made to stave it off first hand left him stricken. 

"Y'shouldn't have been out in the rain," the gunslinger croaked.  _Fuck, he knew he should've said something sooner._

"We thank you for your valuable input, Erron Black," Ermac said coldly. "If you would please close the door behind you when you leave, we would like to finish."

The bitter cold in Erron's veins was flushed out with something positively boiling. "Hey!" he barked. "I'm just tryin' to keep an eye out for ya! I don't want ya haulin' off and gettin' yourself hurt or killed, y'know. Because you're..."

"We are useful to the kahn," Ermac finished for him.

Erron froze once again, all the air forced out of his lungs in one breath. "Is...is that what you think? That I just think you're some kinda tool or somethin'?"

"It is true, is it not? We will continue to serve the kahn for as long as we are useful, and when we are not, we will be -"

"Shut the  _fuck_ up." Erron's voice was a whisper, fists shaking at his sides. "Yain't just a pawn, Ermac, and I ain't gonna sit here and listen to ya talk about yourself like that, y'hear?" He took a tentative step forward, staring at the construct's confused expression as his own softened a degree. "Look, I know I've been an ass lately. I just...I had some thinkin' to do about...things."

Ermac moved to try and sit up again, but this time Erron intervened. "Here, lemme help ya." He took one of Ermac's hands in his own, the other hand circling around to support the construct's back as he moved into a sitting position. Erron's hand lingered on his bare skin, the leathery flesh still slightly damp but softer than he'd expected. He could also feel the sharp edges of bone just beneath the surface and made a mental note to urge Ermac to eat more from now on. 

"Thank you," Ermac said softly, still clutching onto Erron's hand, as if afraid to let go. "Forgive us, we simply...while tightening the brace usually does not take as much time, with our flesh saturated in place, it was more painful than usual, and we...we should not have snapped at you..."

Erron hushed him softly, fighting the urge to take Ermac into his arms and cradle him like an infant. "Don't apologize to me. Not like I don't deserve it," he mumbled.

Misty green eyes flitted over where their hands were joined before settling back on the gunslinger's features. Erron felt his pulse quicken as he realized this was the closest he'd ever been. He'd never noticed that Ermac's eyes were flecked with gold before. The hand that was settled on the small of the construct's back slid up, tracing over the curve of his spine before coming to rest at the base of his skull, cradling it gently. Ermac let out a soft, breathless noise, Erron leaning in.

"Erron Black." Ermac's breath smelled like old books and something sweet, cool and gentle as it brushed over Erron's lips. 

Lips that were scarcely more than a hair's breadth away from touching when Erron's name was called from the open doorway. The gunslinger whipped around to see Reptile leaning around the corner. 

"You're late," he snarled. 

"Ah, shit, sorry, I was -"

"I don't want to hear it, Black." Reptile hissed, tongue flicking in and out of his lips before he turned to slink away.

Erron watched after him for a moment before turning back to Ermac, who gave him a slow nod.

"Go."


End file.
